The Principal's Daughter

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I think today has set the record of people deliberately trying to piss me off. Am I a target? Did I rub someone the wrong way? Because I honestly want to know what I did to make Life hella mad. But seriously, why? And yes, I’m whining. But can you really blame me? Blake King, who is set on seeing me angry, is sitting in my seat. Everyone knows its my seat. I literally bought it and carved my name into it. And he sits in it?! Seriously?!

“Mr. King, I am going to say this once. Move. Out. Of. My. Seat.” I know I’m being a bit over-dramatic but…… “Give me a reason to.” “Get up, and look at the name that is carved into it.” Getting up, I push him out of the way and sit in the chair. Or try to. Whining, “Blake, please?” Smirking, “Why not sit on my lap?” A flash of anger reflecting in my eyes I do the only thing that makes sense. I slap him.

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The classroom gets dead silent. You know the saying that says that you can hear when a pencil drops? Well, it’s that silent. It’s a little shocking that I would do that. Never have I ever hit someone out of anger. Never. So imagine my surprise when my immediate reflex is to slap Blake. A little out of the ordinary.

“Did you just slap me?” I reply unfazed, “Yep. Will you get up now?” “I don’t think so. This chair is actually pretty comfortable.” I have never met such an annoying person. I would rather hear a cheerleading Barbie doll talk my ears off than be in the presence of Satan’s illegitimate son. Okay, I went a little bit far on that one. But it was good right? “Fine.” “Fine, what?” “You can sit in my seat.” “I didn’t need to ask for permission. But I’m amused that you think that has some sort of power over me.” “It does. But I’ll let you think otherwise.” “So, I listen to some little girl just because she says so?” Not getting angry, “Yep.”

Just when I finish my sentence, more like one-worded reply, Steven Miller walks in the door. Steven Miller as in my childhood sweetheart. Steven Miller as in he-is-walking-in-with-my-enemy. My breath hitches when he makes eye contact with me. You have to understand, this guy has piercing green eyes, dirty blonde hair, and the build of a god. Not only is he attractive to all female specimen, but he is also optimistic, absolutely hilarious, and sentimental. He might look angry all of the time, because of his permanent frown, but his personality is a whole different story.

Steven is the kind of guy you see yourself marrying one day. Not a lot of guys are like that. I also don’t give my heart away multiple times like some girls do. Not that I’m bashing those girls, but I just don’t let myself feel those kind of emotions toward guys that may not even like me back. It’s easier that way.

“Amelia?” Looking at Blake, “Hmm?” “You can have your seat now.” “O-kay?” Mr. Sapphire was looking at me differently. I don’t think I like what his gaze is doing to my heart. Imagine a woodpecker pounding on a tree incessantly. That, my friend, is the speed of my heart. Not healthy. Not normal. Can I please get some regularity in my life?

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